


Feel So Close

by Puppeteer (Cendree)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cendree/pseuds/Puppeteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><span class="u">How to Be One Hell of a Boyfriend: A Guide</span> by Jake English, co-authored and illustrated by Dirk Strider</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel So Close

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i titled it for [that one song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGghkjpNCQ8). oh well no regrets.
> 
> alt title is All of Lala's DirkJake Headcanons: The Fic

Your name is Jake English and, what a surprise, you are returning home from a film screening.

Normally, your boyfriend of eight years would be returning home with you, but tonight he decided to stay in to work on some important project for his job. This happens pretty frequently—since he’s a big shot engineer and such—but it’s not like you’ve ever minded watching movies by yourself.

This film was a particularly good one: a ripsnorting action-adventure plot and just a hint of romance. It made you wish he’d been there with you and you were looking forward to recounting the entire thing, scene by scene, when you were with him again.

The house is mostly dark when you enter but there’s a light on in your bedroom. That’s where he typically does his work so you aren’t surprised.

You’re not sure whether to shout “honey, I’m hoooome!” or “here’s Jakey!” when you burst into the room but the sight that greets you when you do end up stumbling and falling in makes you forget all dumb media references anyway.

Dirk is lying across the bed, dressed in his work clothing, with various metal scraps, papers, and tools all around him.

He’s fast asleep.

In fact, he so completely unconscious that he doesn’t even stir when you enter, and since he’s by far the most alert man you know, it’s quite a shock.

It’s not unknown to you though—Dirk hardly gets any legitimate rest and sometimes, after working too hard and too long, his body just gives up and knocks him out. It’s then that he’ll get a full night of sleep, which manages to keep him going until the cycle repeats. The project he’s been slaving over must have finally overwhelmed him. You thought it might happen when you saw the deep purple bruise-like rings around his eyes this morning: a tell-tale sign that he hadn’t even napped in days.

You kneel on the bed and take the safety glasses from his face, then clear the mattress of the other odds and ends before you try to wake him enough to get him to change into something other than his dress slacks and tie. 

“Strider,” you say as you gently rub his shoulder. “Wake up, bro.”

“Jamrfkgl,” he mutters, not opening his eyes. His hand twitches and that’s the most movement you get out of him.

You jostle him a little more firmly. “Dirk.”

“Noorf…Ja…ake,” he slurs, but at least he’s starting to reach coherency because you definitely heard your name in that garble. “Jaaake, noorgh. Nofp.”

“C’mon, wake up.” You give his face a couple of paps and his eyes flutter and his hand swings up to half-heartedly bat you away. “Go put on some pajamas and then you can go right back to sleep.”

He scrunches up his face like he just ate something bitter. It’s pretty cute, actually, like a little sleepy Dirk bunny. You are a hard man, Jake English. A hard man.

“Let’s go, hup two,” you say, starting to pull him upright. He grumbles at you and rubs at his eyes, opening them just a crack. It’s encouraging, so you try to cheer him on. “Ah! There are those gorgeous peepers I love so dearly.”

He groans and makes the scrunched-up face again, likely directing it at your cheeseballing, but you choose to ignore it. “Come on. Let’s get you up and out of this outfit, Strider.” You hook him under the arms and drag him upwards.

“Nn…ablution,” he grumbles tiredly, leaning heavily on you as you both stand up. “I’ve…got to shower.”

You stare at him somewhat incredulously. “Oh no. No, you don’t need a shower, Dirk.”

His eyes open a little more to look back at you, mirroring your look of disbelief. “No…yeah…I do.”

“No. You don’t. Pjs and bed.” You’re trying to help him out! He clearly needs rest.

“That’s gross, no,” he says. “Shower.”

You’re not the most patient person and you are quickly becoming frustrated. “Don’t be an ass, Strider, it’s only been a couple of hours since your last one. How dirty could you possibly be?” He looks like he could collapse at any minute; you keep a hold on him to make sure that doesn’t happen.

He ignores your question. “Shower,” he says.

“I don’t—“

“ _Shower._ ”

“Now listen here, you shi—“

“Shower,” he commands with all the force he can muster while still mostly asleep and you want to punch him but instead you comply because it might be the only way you can willingly get him out his nice clothing.

You practically carry him to the bathroom attached to your room; he’s so tired, he can barely stand and when you let go of him in order to turn on the shower, he wobbles precariously. It just makes you annoyed.

With the water at the near scalding temperature he likes best, you turn to him and testily ask, “Well, are you able to undress yourself or should I help you?”

Normally this would be an invitation for him to say something licentious to you, initiating the typical pre-coital bantering that leaves you blushing at the ears and raring to go. But he’s so sleepy right now he just nods sort of pathetically. It manages to bring out a little of your soft side. You go for his clothes.

“I wasn’t aware I came into possession of a small child today,” you tell him and he grunts at you in a way that means 'shut up, Jake' as you loosen his tie (it’s the pretty blue one today, your favorite). You slip it over his head and begin fumblingly unbuttoning his shirt. No teasing about your butterfingers today and that’s sort of nice since _not everyone has fucking robot hands._

He raises his arms so you can remove his undershirt and throw it to the floor with the rest of the clothes. His bare chest is a well-known sight but it’s still quite lovely to look at and you can’t help but lay a quick kiss on his freckled shoulder before going for his belt.

This whole undressing this would really be so much sexier for you if he were actually awake. Right now, it is more like a chore and you’ve seen him sans clothing so many times that it’s become much easier for you to not see his body as erotic.

Good thing too, because he is clearly way too tired for sex tonight.

He manages to help you a little by stepping out of his pants and boxers and then your vision is completely filled with naked Dirk Strider. You refuse to be impressed or turned on. You shove him into the shower.

He sighs contentedly when the water hits him and his head drops; you watch his hair do the neat thing where it goes from defying gravity to behaving normally. It’s longish when it’s wet, falling past his eyes, and the blond turns darker, almost reddish.

Water beads over his skin and you can see his tattoo and his scars and his freckles and his fine blond body hair. Then you realize you are just standing there, staring at him, and decide to leave to get him some sleepwear to change into when he’s done.

Truly the best boyfriend is you.

When you reenter the steamed up bathroom bearing boxers and a tank, you notice that Dirk hasn’t moved an inch. He’s clearly out cold again and you are slightly outraged.

“Jesus in a handcart! Strider, you can’t seriously be asleep in the friggin’ shower!”

He doesn’t move.

“I’m not willing to front the water bill or risk you drowning, Dirk. I’m serious.”

He’s completely unresponsive, looking peaceful in the way he only looks when he’s deep in sleep. Damn him.

“Striiiider,” you growl and his lack of movement actually is starting to make you worry that he’s drowned and is now dead on his feet.

It takes you less than thirty seconds to shuck off your clothes, nearly tripping when you step out of your shorts. He normally laughs at you when you do that and you know he’s knocked out when he doesn’t. You throw the clothing into the hamper and hop into the shower. He stirs and lifts his head, letting you that he isn’t dead at least.

As you pull the curtain shut, his cloudy eyes open partway and when you face him, he glances over your naked body. For a few long seconds, he stares at your flaccid dick with something akin to absolute disinterest and you aren’t sure whether to laugh or feel offended. You refrain from doing either. His eyes slide closed again and his head rolls down like he’s gone back to sleep and that’s as good a cue as any for you to start bathing him, you guess.

There are a fuckload of soaps in here. You’ve tried a couple of times to wean Dirk off his infatuation with weird bath concoctions to no avail. He loves his showers and, by extension, loves all the completely unnecessary (in your opinion) things that go with them.

You grab what you _think_ is shampoo and squeeze a dollop into his wet hair. He doesn’t wake up fully but he has the good sense to drop his head towards you so you can scrub more easily.

He rarely lets you do much of anything with his dumb, spiked-up mane and, in a way, it is sort of nice to be able to do this. His hair actually fine and silky without all of the product he puts in and he makes a pleased sound when you scratch against his scalp. You rinse him, then you slather on some conditioner (maybe? you think? _there are just so many bottles…_ ) because he’s damn fussy about that sort of thing and you can be a nice person when you want to be. 

On the wall of the shower hang these poofy spongy mesh things that Dirk has told you the name of but you’ve since forgotten. There’s an orange one that’s his and a green one that you’re pretty sure is supposed to be yours but you’ve never touched it because your hands are perfectly good at dispersing soap, thank you. You know from many, many showers with him that he always uses one of these or a washcloth and that he gets pissy with you when you don’t, so you grab his orange soapthingy and get to work.

You choose a blue soap that claims to smell like 'Mountain Rain' because you like blue, you like mountains, and you like rain, and you work it into the soap-doodad. It doesn’t smell anything like actual mountains, rain, or any combination of the two but it’s pleasant enough.

He sighs as you start rubbing the whatchamacallit over his chest in small, soft circles. You scrub over his very defined collarbone and across his freckly shoulders. He’s muscular, but not prominently so— more than anything, he’s thin and wiry. You’re an interesting looking couple, you think, with your very different body types.

You grab his hands and wash his arms, covering his left one with extra soap foam so you don’t have to deal with the dead eyes of tattoo Hella Jeff watching you. Dirk’s very compliant and lets you move him around however you want, but that’s probably because he’s unconscious. You gently push him against the wall for support and the most you see him react is a wince at the coldness of the tile.

Making sure he’s not going to immediately topple over, you pull one of his skinny chicken legs up by the knee so that you don’t have to bend as much when you wash it. He doesn’t shave his legs but the hair on him is so fine and blond that it’s practically invisible—unlike yours, which is dark and curly and thick. That’s something he loves to tease you about but you’re pretty sure he’s actually really into it because he got a little upset with you the one time you thought it would be interesting to shave.

He manages to keep his balance as you clean and rinse off each leg. Then you eye the part between them, look to your meshy scouring soap-contraption, and decide that it definitely shouldn’t be something used on that…area. So you toss the orange scrubthing aside, pour soap into your palms, work up a lather, grab his dick, and—oh god, you remember when this sort of thing actually used to be really embarrassing to you.

It’s not as sexy as your typical shower handjob, since he’s not mentally present and you aren’t actually trying to get him off, but he still reacts a little, making a soft noise as he twitches under your grip.

His eyes remain closed but you didn’t really think he would open them. You continue to gently wash his skin, sliding your hand under him to get at his balls and ass, and props to you, you are an excellent boyfriend. But you know Dirk would absolutely do the same for you.

You rinse him off again and try not to ogle the way his dick bobs in the spray of water. He’s about half-hard right now and, frankly, so are you, but he’s also asleep and you’re not about to wake him up for your silly little carnal whims. 

His back still needs to be cleaned, you realize and pick up the scrubbermajig again. When you turn him around, he immediately slumps forward and squishes his face against the tile, muttering nonsense while you thoroughly scrub his back.

Oh damn, the pose he’s in now is somewhat suggestive, reminding you of some past escapades where you attempted shower intercourse. It never really worked for either of you; there aren’t many places to get leverage and the water tends to wash away all of the lube. There were some pretty hot fumbles though and those are definitely worthy of occupying your thoughts as you finish bathing Dirk.

You leave him to stand in the water while you quickly rub soap all over yourself. There. Both of you are clean.

He actually whines when you shut off the shower and you tell him to man up as you grab a towel to wrap around him.

Usually he does this thing where he twists his hair up in the towel but you don’t know how to do that so you just ruffle his hair dry then rub the water off his limbs.

Well. Now he looks like a fluffy wet dog. You quickly run a comb over his head.

He still looks like a fluffy wet dog and continues to just stand there, sleeping.

You grab the pair of boxers you brought for him and help him into them. He lifts his arms for you to slide the tank down his torso.

“What else?” you ask aloud to yourself—it’s a bad habit but Dirk does it too. Neither of you do it as much anymore though because you're no longer alone. You look your boyfriend over: he’s clean and dressed for bed and that’s certainly an accomplishment. Congratulatory back pats are in order. “Oh! Teeth.”

He’s got one of those fancy electric toothbrushes; you squeeze toothpaste on it and hand it to him (because fuck if you know how to work it) before wandering into the bedroom because you realized you didn’t bring any fresh clothing for yourself. You come back clad in a pair of briefs, which is the most you are willing to wear when you sleep, and Dirk is…exactly how you left him.

“Are you going to brush your own teeth or should I be expecting to do that for you as well?” It was a joke but his response is to blearily open one eye to look at you before also opening his mouth. What a piece of work he is.

With an exasperated sigh, you snatch the brush up and shove it into his mouth, contemplating making him gag with it.

“You are a dadblasted infant, Strider,” you tell him while scrubbing his teeth a little crossly. “I hope no one believes you for a single second when you claim to be ‘in charge of everything’ because you are nothing but a large and cumbersome baby!”

You think the corners of his lips might be twitching like he’s trying not to smile. Both of his eyes open as you yank the toothbrush out of his mouth, speckling the mirror with foam, and point it at the sink.

“Spit,” you order and the look in his eyes before he does as you say is pure amusement.

You grab a towel and say “here, dumb baby” as irritably as you can while you wipe his face. Then you all but shove a cup of water into his hands and dramatically storm off to the bedroom. 

The soft sound of his laughter follows you out and, much to your chagrin, ends up making you smile too.

The revenge you take is lame even for you. You slide under the covers of the neatly made bed and roll around, mussing up and untucking all of the sheets because you know he hates that. Then you turn off all of the lights so he will have to find his way through the bedroom in darkness.

It doesn’t seem to give him any trouble, but you didn’t actually think it would. He’s a damn ninja—he lives for the darkness.

You’ve removed your glasses and the only way you know that he’s joined you in bed is by the way the mattress creaks and sinks a little as he slips. You roll on your side to face him but still can’t see anything but blackness. His head hits the pillow with a soft rustle of fabric and he mutters a series of irritated insults at you when he realizes the sheets are all messed up. 

You grin in victory.

The darkness and Dirk’s presence are comforting; you have just started to drift off when the mattress shifts slightly and cool fingers brush fleetingly right above your belly.

You wait to see if that was an accidental touch.

The fingers appear again on your sternum, circling around your bare skin. You open your eyes to nothing and wait again. He caresses your thigh and _why the devil are his hands always so cold?_

His hand follows his fingers: he’s daring enough to actually grope your crotch.

You strain to look at him—you can’t see well without your glasses and the darkness isn’t helping. If his eyes are open, it’s news to you. That hand is determined though, sliding down your hip and up to your stomach, fingering through the wiry trail of hair and pressing teasingly across the front of your briefs. There’s no way in hell he’s doing this unconsciously.

You clear your throat loudly. “Awake now, are we?”

In response, he sniffs. His hand doesn’t stop floating over your lower half but he takes his time before finally communicating with you. When he does, it’s to say, “You used the wrong conditioner on my hair.”

Shitknickers, you think.

“Oh, gee,” you say, rolling your eyes hard as you can. He probably can’t see it so the effect is lost. “I’m awfully sorry, dear. If only someone had been more aware of the situation, perhaps then he would have been able to prevent such a catastrophe from occurring.”

Dirk leans in and kisses your neck, which is his typical ploy to get you to be quiet. His mouth against your jugular makes you swallow and you can feel how his lips curl as your Adam’s apple bobs. Good lord, he’s infuriating as the dickens and you are perfectly happy to spend your life with him.

He playfully snaps the elastic waistband of your underwear, drags a finger lightly down the growing bulge in the fabric to cup your balls, and gently sucks on your neck. As much as you might like to deny him what he clearly wants in retaliation for being a pain in your ass, you aren’t going to. You want him just as much.

His mouth moves up your neck to your ear and his slow, even breathing crackles warmly in your head. “English,” he whispers and it’s the tone that he only uses when he’s trying to challenge you. He’s daring you; he's always daring you.

You always take the bait.

“Come here, Strider,” you demand, wrapping your fingers firmly around his bony hip. You think you might be able to make out the flash of white teeth in the darkness as he smirks and immediately slides his body up to yours. The brightness of his mouth is what you use as your guide when you kiss him, grabbing his wandering hands in yours and pressing them to your bare chest so he can feel your heartbeat quicken. 

You willingly admit that you are sappy. 

With his hands occupied with roaming over your torso, you slide yours down the back of his shirt to his boxer-clad ass. Dirk has a butt that’s firm, solid muscle with little give. It’s quite flat but still looks and feels absolutely wonderful. You remember how surprised he was to learn that you enjoy his ass as much as he enjoys yours.

He makes a little 'tchh' noise as you goose him and his thumbs flick over your nipples and gently pinch. It doesn’t feel like much of anything to you—maybe a little strange—but you honestly don’t mind him doing it.

His fingernails are blunt and he scratches over your ribs and that actually feels quite nice so you kiss his jaw. He uses those short nails to run all over your chest and stomach, then snorts and says, “You are so goddamn hairy. It’s like a jungle over here.”

You pull him closer to you and when your hips meet, you can feel the erection tenting his boxers slide against the matching one lurking in your briefs.

“My breast. Is a jungle?” you ask playfully, grinning.

He catches your vague reference and barks out a laugh. By now your eyes have adjusted enough to the dark that you can see the way he looks at you, the way he’s tilting his head and doing his little half-smile. His pale skin catches the little moonlight that seeps in through the window and if you squint you might be able to see his freckles.

He brings his face up to yours so that the tips of your noses touch and replies softly, “Your eyes. Are also a jungle.”

“What a charmer,” you say.

“I know, right?” he says and kisses you.

He’s very, _very_ good at it. He’s a got this sort of slow burning intense style of kissing that you’ve tried to adopt but he always just calls your kisses '…enthusiastic.' That’s fine though; your makeout sessions are always just great and there’s something to be said for eight years worth of kisses. You know his lips as well as your own.

You slip your tongue into his mouth before he can do it to you and he chuckles before planting his hands on your chest and pushing. Before you even realize it, you’re on your back and he’s rolled on top of you and is busy stippling your jaw and neck with kisses.

You tilt your head for him and he bites you softly on your collarbone, mouthing and sucking down to your shoulder then to your chest. He pauses to lick briefly at your nipple, which tickles more than anything else, then continues down. His hair skims your skin as he assaults your stomach with kisses, following the line of pubes leading into your blue briefs. Your dick is so hard that it’s practically bursting out of the fabric and Dirk looks amused with you as he hovers over it.

His fingers slip beneath your waistband but he doesn’t free your straining cock. His lips just ghost over the bulge and he licks you through your underwear to make you gasp.

“Strider, please,” you murmur.

He looks up, all big black pupils and narrowed eyes, and mouths you so that you can almost, almost feel the hot wetness wrapping around you but the fucking clothing is still in the way. You want to yell at him and you’re about five seconds away from to tearing off your knickers yourself when he finally slides them off of you.

You groan unabashedly as his tongue flicks over the head and laps up the beads of precum. He swirls down, popping the tip into his mouth and lightly sucking. You grab a fistful of his hair and he hums, taking you deeper into his throat.

“Oh Father Christmas…” you groan and the look he gives you is one of the most contemptuous you’ve ever seen. You can practically hear his voice in your brain saying, 'Wow, Jake, thanks so much for calling out to Santa; your gift this year is my flaccid dick.'

You wince and apologize. He rolls his eyes in response like 'I’m so done with you' and you tell him that you honestly are sorry, that he’s just doing such a number on you. 

He breathes heavily through his nose, sighing, and—wait a minute, did you seriously just hold an entire conversation while Dirk had your dick in his mouth?

Except then you can think about that anymore because he’s hollowing his cheeks and swallowing you down as deep as he can and you are moaning his name. He’s so good at this—at everything, really—you’re a little jealous. “Ngh, Dirk, maybe you shouldn’t be such a damn showoff.”

He pulls off of you with a suction noise then swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Maybe you shouldn’t taste so good.” The tip of his tongue slips out, pink and tauntingly close to you.

“Maybe,” you retort, tugging his hair to get him away from your groin. “You shouldn’t be wearing so many clothes.”

He complies and places his hands on either side of your head and his body hovers over yours. His lips are at your ear again. “Maybe you should fix that then.”

So you do, grabbing the hem of his tank and yanking it over his head. He’s laughing as you snake your arms around his torso, rubbing eagerly over his exposed flesh then sliding your hands into his boxers.

The little mewl he makes when you curl your fingers around his pulsing erection and stroke him motivates you to remove the underwear as fast as possible and hurl it across the room. Within seconds you are desperately pulling his naked body on top of yours.

He grinds hard against you, instigates a series of sloppy kisses, and you are pretty positive it’s about damn time that you got serious. 

“S-so do you want to—” you trail off breathily, looking down at his twitching dick while he nibbles on your ear. You’re thinking that definitely wouldn’t mind taking it this evening. “Do the…er, honors…?”

Dirk stares at you, trying to decipher what you are asking. Then he smirks. “Nah. I’ve decided I want your cock in my ass tonight.”

You go ‘ack!’ at his bluntness then attempt a recovery with a wallop of your attitude. “Gosh, so romantic tonight, Strider. Consider me fucking wooed.”

He snorts. “Just telling it like it is, Jake. I suppose I could ask you to make sweet, sweet love to me but that sounds pretty out of character.”

You roll your eyes again and this time you are pretty sure he can see it. “Oh Christ, yes, we wouldn’t want that. My sincerest apologies, bro.”

“I forgive you,” he says and kisses your cheek. You punch his shoulder when he reaches for the lube on your bedside table. He smacks you in the face with the bottle after he snatches it up so you slap his ass. You're both chuckling like idiots and this could easily devolve into one of your weirdly erotic wrestling matches but he's putting a stop to it, giving you kiss and popping the cap on the lube. 

“Let me,” you say, taking the bottle from him and sitting up. He hesitates for a second, then sits in front of you and spreads his legs. You grab one ankle and pull it towards your mouth, pressing a kiss to it before resting it on your shoulder.

He watches as you carefully warm the lube up in your hands, slicking your fingers, and doesn’t make any sound at all when you slowly slide one into him. You have sex frequently enough that he doesn’t require too much stretching anymore but you still like to take your time with preparing him. He gets riled up and demanding when you move this deliberately and it’s honestly hilarious. 

“Come on,” he says, already irritated.

You add another finger bit by bit even though there’s little resistance. He hisses at you. You scissor them slowly and his muscles easily give way to you. You comfortingly pet his thigh with your free hand and he's furious. 

“Jake, you know I don’t need this,” he spits. “Let’s go, asshole.”

“Hmm. Someone has taken a joyride aboard the Rudeness Express tonight, I think.” You have three fingers in him to leisurely fuck him with while he glares at you, impatient and annoyed.

“That doesn’t even mean anything, you horrible douche,” he growls, looking reading to hit you. “Can I have your dick now, please?”

You don’t answer, only twist and curl the fingers up to suddenly jab against a familiar spot, and his body jerks as his hands scrabble against the mattress. “Jake!” you make him call out and you grin because it’s nice to win occasionally.

“Alrighty,” you tell him, removing your hand and giving him a peck on the lips. He growls again, calls you a fucker, and grabs your face to deepen the kiss.

If he’s turned on, you’re doubly so. You grab his other leg and pull him against you and your dick bumps against his ass and holy smokes, you want him desperately. You make a move to start floundering around in the drawer for a condom but he grabs your arm to stop you.

You look at him curiously but he just squeezes some lube on his palms and then slides them over your bare dick.

_Oh._

He hardly ever lets you take him raw, even though you have both tested clean and have had no partners besides each other. He doesn’t like the mess and you can’t really blame him for that because you have also been on the receiving end and you know how it is.

But you suppose this is his way of showing gratitude for taking care of him and that’s incredibly sweet. Except you don’t need to be rewarded; you’re pretty content just having the knowledge that you’re a real gem of a boyfriend.

“Dirk, I don’t mind,” you say and his hands still.

“I know,” he says quietly. He looks like he’s not sure if he wants to elaborate, but he does. “I just don’t want anything at all between us tonight.”

He would have made fun of you if you said something like that and you know you could tease him right now, but your mouth has gone dry. You don’t know how to verbally reply, so you press your lips to his forehead instead.

His hands leave your erection and he cleans them off on one of wipes you keep on the bedside table before pushing you onto your back. He straddles your hips and _wow, we’re doing cowboy tonight, alright, that’s spiffing_. Your hands fly to hold his waist to help support him as he inhales deeply and slowly eases himself down onto your cock.

White heat envelopes you as you watch his ass connect with your hips and you let him settle, get acclimated. You realize that you have been breathing like a bull through your nose, trying to wrap your brain around the sensations happening around your dick, and Dirk has this look of intense concentration that you’re not quite sure how to interpret.

You stroke his hip lovingly and a little shakily. He feels like electricity and he's constricting and it's getting hard to see straight. “W-whenever you’re ready, love,” you warble out.

He nods, straightens up, and slowly rolls his hips. His eyes burn into you like hot pokers and he clenches like a vice around you.

Good god…

“ _Fuck,_ ” you hiss and he does it again, even slower, so that you can feel every tiny slide of your dick inside of him. “Strider…”

He’s too damn good and he loves having this control over you. You’re fucked in practically every sense of the word unless you fight back.

It’s a good thing you love to fight.

Your grip on his hips becomes your point of leverage and the next time he rolls, you thrust back. He just grins like the devil and gradually picks up the pace, rolling turning into rocking until he’s bouncing up and down on your dick. His hands slide down his own body then search over yours and you keep on digging your fingers into his skin.

Every time he rises off you, you drag him back down and each time you get a gorgeous reaction, his mouth falling open with a breathy murmur. “Mm…”

He rides you so beautifully, spindly fingers gracefully splayed on your chest while he rocks his hips and tilts his head back with a throaty noise. It’s difficult to take him all in at once; it’s an overload, seeing this incredible man stretched out in front of you, feeling him impaling himself on you as his pretty dick bobs with each of your thrusts. “Oh Dirk…”

This time you slam up into him before he can lift himself off and now you’re the one setting the pace. He makes another delicious noise and collapses forward, leaning against your chest. He’s closer now so you can get your mouth on him and you leave wet kisses over everything in your reach. The air is heavy with both of your panting, thick with the sound of your flesh connecting, and when you squeeze his ass around your dick and start to pull him on and off you like a piston, you both groan loudly.

His entire body flushes when you fuck and the head of his cock gets so red, it shines. You can barely see colors in the dark but the image has been burned into your brain from previous experience so that even if you can’t see, you can still tell he’s on fire right now, lovely and splotched with heat and desire.

“J-jake…” He’s trying valiantly to keep himself up still, his face hovering over yours with his mouth wide open and a glazed over stare. You pull his hips down and buck into him hard, once; his golden eyes spin back in his skull and the noise he makes is heaven. “Jake, fuck!”

“Fuck,” you agree, because his face makes you want to cum right there and now but you also don’t want it to end. “Ah, you are damn gorgeous, you are so friggin sexy, Dirk, sweet mother Mary…”

You’ve got him nearly drooling and a few harder thrusts have him lying weakly on top of you, no longer able to support himself. You take that as your opportunity to change positions, holding him against your body as you flip over, now pinning him beneath you. It takes a few moments to rearrange yourselves, but you manage to find something you both like. He draws his legs up and you hook your arms under his knees and push them towards his chest as you slide back into him, keeping balance with your hands against the mattress on either side of him.

You essentially have complete control now: you’ve got the leverage and he can only move a little—no more controlling the pace. But even though you know as well as anyone that Dirk loves power, you also know that he loves when you take it from him. He trusts you. His arms reach up to you and drape sweetly over your shoulders as you leisurely rock into him. You can feel his fingers knotting into your hair, skittering down the nape of your neck and pulling you down towards him.

When you kiss, slowly sliding in and out of him as you do, you are overwhelmed with the thought that this must be exactly what lovemaking means. The look he's giving you right now tell you he's thinking the same.

“Love you,” he murmurs, barely parted from your lips so that his words ghost over your skin.

You love him so much. It swells over you, makes you feel an impossibly profound and wonderful connection to this man and yeah, there’s no denying you are the sappiest person you know. “I adore you, Dirk.”

He smiles and looks up at you like he’s the luckiest man alive when you know that, ever since he came into your life, it has always, _always_ been you. 

It would be impossible to thank him enough for allowing you into his heart but you can at least give him something back. You kiss him softly, lingering, and whisper to him, “I’m going to make you feel so good, love.”

His hands cup your face and you reach for his neglected cock. He usually likes it just fine when you cum first then suck him off but, as understood, you are one sappy fucker tonight and you’d like to try to get him to peak when you do.

The way he responds to your touch is completely perfect: he strains as best he can to slide into your grip and gives you delicious little moans when you wrap your fist around his length and slowly stroke him.

You aren’t the most well coordinated individual but you try to match the pace of your thrusts with the pumping of your hand. He groans for you and one of his hands slides down your chest before he uses it to squeeze and fondle his balls.

“Is that nice, Dirk?” you ask in a raspy low voice, thick with lust and strained from exertion. “’Hm, Strider? Do you like that?”

“Y-e-yes.” He holds the ‘s’ in a blissed-out hiss as you pick up the pace, rocking faster into him. “Mn, Jake…”

You think you might be hitting against his prostate again when he suddenly and loudly blurts out “oh!” A shallower, purposefully aimed thrust rips a shout of your name from his lips and it drives you insane so you do it again and he nearly sobs.

“Tell me, love. Tell me what you want.” You slowly roll your hips into him, grinding your pelvis into his ass.

“There! Oh fuck, keep going, mmgh yes right there,” he babbles, barely coherent.

“Oh?” You punctuate by thrusting. “Right there?” You are teasing him now, lording your control over him as you hit the spot again and again, building up a good rhythm.

Dirk just moans loudly; the sound crashes through your skull and spurs you on. The first licks of heat, the beginnings of your climax, start to spread through you and you can tell that Dirk is close too. His dick is throbbing in your hand and he’s starting to shake like a leaf.

“Tell me,” you insist, rolling your palm over the sensitive, ruby red head of his cock.

“Ngh! God, yes! Jake, yes, please. I-I’m close…fuck!”

You lean low over him, brush your lips against his face, murmuring, “What would you like, Dirk?”

He’s coming completely undone and it’s beautiful. “Shit, I…j-just, harder!”

Whatever he wants, you are more than willing to give to him. You tighten your grip on him and pump furiously while you change your angle to have better leverage to thrust into him. He chokes out a strangled cry and his eyes close tightly as you snap your hips hard, connecting to him with a loud smack of flesh on flesh. You can’t move as fast when you are focusing on force so Dirk whole body suddenly and violently jolts with each slam of your cock into his ass.

He’s getting really loud now, swearing and calling your name, singing your praises, crying out, “Jesus fuck you are so so so good, Jake, _you are so fucking good_ ” and you’re incredibly thankful you can be that for him.

His ass clenches in spasms and the warmth and pressure surrounding you make your blood roar in your ears. It makes you feel wild and you hoarsely tell him that you are going to fuck that heat senseless, you are going to bury yourself in it. It is yours; he is all fucking yours. The tendrils of pleasure are curling in your gut, making your balls tighten and your muscles flex, and the feeling of reaching your climax spreads through you like an electric shock.

Dirk is telling you he’s going to cum in a breathless voice, begging you to cum with him, please, Jake, oh fuck, please.

Losing your already tentative grip on control, you gasp out his name and he grabs your chin and smashes your lips together, less of a kiss than just sharing heavy bursts of breath through your open, wet, hungry mouths.

One more pound of your hips into his glorious ass as it constricts around you and you’re both completely gone.

“J-Jake!”

In your hand, you feel him spasm as he releases and you work him through it as best you can. His body quakes for you and you squeeze his cock as it spurts out ribbons of cum that lace his stomach and dribble down your knuckles.

“Oh god…Dirk…”

He purrs nonsense, strokes your face, grips you firmly inside of him, and you finish hard, filling him with your seed. Then you collapse against him, struggling to work through your high.

Both of you are spent, fighting to get air into your lungs. Dirk gently tugs on your hair and you manage to raise your sweaty forehead off his shoulder. You smile a tired version of your goofy smile and kiss him affectionately.

“This is becoming uncomfortable,” he tells you and you do have him practically bent in half with all of your weight on top of him so you apologize.

Pushing yourself up, you slowly ease out of him, watching him try to hide his cringing as you pop out and lower his legs. You know how it feels so you give his face a smattering of sweet kisses in sympathy. You grab a wipe and clean the two of you again. You’re gentler with Dirk now than you were in the shower and when you are done, you start to rub his back.

He snorts and halfheartedly pushes you away. “That’s unnecessary, Jake. I can handle a lot more than you just dished out.”

There’s reason to protest but probably both of you just want to sleep now so you don’t. “Oh, I know,” you say instead, waggling your eyebrows and trying to smirk. You're well-aware that your overbite makes it look dumb and prevents anyone from taking you seriously. 

He shoves you harder this time and you start chuckling. “Ugh, you fucking dork.”

“Emphasis on the fucking, eh, love?” He walked right into that one. You did a good job on him tonight.

“Hey, Jake, what time is it?” Dirk asks, then, in a horrific approximation of your accent, continues, “Oh, golly gee, look at that! It’s time to shut the hell up before I ruin Dirk’s afterglow with my inane babble.”

“Dickprince,” you call him.

“Assmuncher,” he retorts.

He’s so perfect: the best partner you could have ever asked for. You would do anything for him.

“I love you,” you offer.

“What the fuck did I ever do to deserve this,” he mutters, sounding exasperated, and he shakes his head like he’s dismissing you, but you can see the smile on his face. He’s not good at hiding it anymore, at least not around you; it’s been too many years.

You touch his flushed, freckled face, feeling nothing but love for this man, and he sidles right up to your warm, jungle-y chest.

“It must have been something good, I think,” you say as you wrap him in your arms and breathe in the scent of sweat, sex, and the wrong conditioner you used on his hair. You close your eyes.

He takes a moment, as if thinking about it, before he presses a tender kiss to your chin. 

“Yeah,” he finally agrees, and then goes to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> the word 'assmuncher' was stolen from Cody so this is one goes out to him. 
> 
> also many thanks to D for helping me catch small errors and telling me that the porn was decent enough to share and to Kez because she is always my inspiration when i write Jake.


End file.
